A/N: Some of you might already have seen this on Deviant Art where I uploaded it as a Halloween-special. I wanted to write something for Halloween: crack wasn't what I had in my mind, really. Still, it turned out as the fairy-tale parody fanfic you are about to read... I hope you enjoy it!

The Terms and Consequences

It happened not a very long time after the Moon had first set sail on the skies...

Pat pat pat.

A troll was on his way to the gate. There were somebody - or somebodies - knocking outside it, and his Master had ordered him to go to bring them a message.

As a small window high above the gates opened and the troll peeked out the clamour ended immediately. The troll frowned as he saw strange Elves standing outside Angband. The troll didn't like Elves.

"You are fools to come here," the troll shouted at the Elves, repeating the words his Master had told him to say. "Do not battle against an enemy stronger than yourself. Is not Melkor the Almighty a Vala with tens of thousands at his command? Go away!"

The Elves looked up. Their leader cleared his throat and shouted back: "We hear you, you thrall, but go tell your Master that we are here to -" The window was slammed shut and no one cared to listen for what the Elf had on his mind.

That was a mistake. Melkor cursed his stupid servant and roared for somebody wiser than a troll to go to the gate.

Thud thud thud.

A balrog was on his way to the gate. The somebodies were still knocking and playing their trumpets outside it, and his Master had ordered him to go to bring them a message, because apparently they had something to on their mind.

As a small window high above the gates opened and the balrog peeked out the clamour ended immediately. The balrog frowned as he saw the strange Elves standing outside Angband. The troll hated Elves.

"Do you want to end up as some of your kinsmen did?," the balrog shouted at the Elves, repeating the words his Master had told him to say. " Go South! That's where the survivors are hiding. They can tell you how useless it is to wage war against Melkor the Almighty, a Vala with tens of thousands at his command. Go away!"

The Elves looked up again. Their leader shouted back: "I am Fingolfin of the house of Finwë. Your Master knows of me! And with me are my sons Fingon the Valiant and Turgon with his daughter Idril; my daughter Aredhel; the sons of my brother: Finrod-" The window was slammed shut and no one cared to listen who else the Elf had with him.

That was a mistake. Melkor cursed his stupid servant and roared for somebody wiser than a troll or a balrog to go to the gate.

Intermission:

"Next time they come, go straight to the point," Fingon advised his father.

"I know," Fingolfin sighed. "But at formal meetings all parties should always be introduced first."

"Name your terms - what we want - and the consequences - what they will get if we don't get what we want," Finrod said.

"You're just confusing him, Finrod," Aredhel mumbled.

"But say it all very quickly and very shortly or else the windows will close again before you get to the point," somebody piped up.

"And tell him not to play any tricks on us," another voice added.

"Tricks?" Fingolfin asked.

"Ask them for a treaty."

"Speak louder, too."

"Or ask them about Fëanor."

"Tell them about the consequences."

"A treaty..."

"I can do it, if only you lot keep quiet!" Fingolfin snarled angrily. The others fell quiet immediately. Fingolfin breathed deeply. "I can do it."

But then the window high above the gates was opened once more, and as Fingolfin looked up, all his sons, his nephews, his daughter, his niece, his grandchildren that stood around him started buzzing with advice.

"No tricks!"

"Treaty first."

"Consequences!"

"I want a treat..."

"Stupid."

Fingolfin panicked. Would they never be quiet? All their chatter brought him into a confused state of mind and made him forget what he had meant to say. Then a head peeked through the window, and Fingolfin blurted out whatever came into his mind.

Stomp stomp stomp.

Sauron was on his way to the gate. There were somebody - or somebodies - knocking, playing the trumpets and yelling outside it, and his Master had ordered him to go to bring them a message.

As a small window high above the gates opened and Sauron peeked out the clamour but got higher. Sauron grinned as he saw strange Elves standing outside found Elves highly amusing.

The Elves were standing in a group with all of them whispering to their leader. The moment Sauron was going to deliver his Master's message, the leader looked up at him, his grey eyes rather anxious to say the least, and blurted out his words before he knew what he was saying.

"Tricks and a treat," he said, remembering only blurs of the advice that had been given to him.

"I have no time for tricks or treats," Sauron smirked at the Elf's confusion, "and neither does Melkor the Almighty, a Vala with tens of thousands at his command. Was that all you had to say?"

Fingolfin's face reddened. "I want the Silmarils as a treat," he said, trying to explain his bizarre words.

"What if we won't give them?"

"You will face the consequences, and we will trick you into doing it..."

"You will?" Sauron held back a chuckle. "I will tell that to my Master, and come back with his reply."

Fingolfin nodded. "I hold you to your word.

Now, of course Melkor wouldn't surrender the Silmarils. "I won't treat them to anything, and I do not fear their tricks," he said, and asked Sauron to tell the Elves outside of his decision. Thus the Elves ended their knocking, their trumpet playing and their yelling and turned on their heels and headed South.

"Don't worry, Fingolfin," Galadriel comforted her uncle. "He wouldn't have given them no matter what you would have said, so it's not your fault."

"Yeah," Orodreth agreed. "And your words weren't that bad either."

"I've made myself look like a fool!" Fingolfin moaned. "What would Father say... what will Fëanor say?

"You are no fool," Turgon told his father. His siblings and his cousins all agreed.

"We can always try another time," Angrod said.

"Indeed. Or we can show them the true meaning of a Noldorin trick," Aegnor said.

"Next time we come, we can dress up as Orcs, and see if they let us in," somebody said.

Somewhere up high on the steep Mountains of Thangorodrim, a certain red-haired son of Fëanor heard all this and face-palmed.

The End

...and this is where the tradition of Trick or Treating comes from.